


Fifteen minutes late with starbucks

by Irrelevancy



Series: More than Friends [5]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM Scene, Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Games, Sex Toys, Situational Humiliation, Temperature Play, ruined orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 10:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22494535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrelevancy/pseuds/Irrelevancy
Summary: Just as Marco sat down on the sixth dildo, Shanks’ cell phone buzzed on the side table.
Relationships: Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks/Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco
Series: More than Friends [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1525001
Comments: 16
Kudos: 101





	Fifteen minutes late with starbucks

**Author's Note:**

> /shrug

Just as Marco sat down on the sixth dildo, Shanks’ cell phone buzzed on the side table.

“Oh! Hold that thought,” Shanks said, cheerily getting up from the stupid little throne he’s set up at the end of the long bench. Had Marco not been in such a state of shocked outrage, he’d have snapped his teeth at Shanks when Shanks brushed by him.

At the door of his stupid little dungeon, Shanks called flippantly over his shoulder, “the three minutes don’t count when I’m not here to see it!”

“Mother _fucker_ where the fuck are you even go—”

The door swung shut behind Shanks, and Marco was left on his own, perched on the sixth dick attached to this entire locker room bench _lined_ with dicks. It had felt stupid on the first one, and Marco had been driven more by competitive spite more than anything when he did exactly as Shanks told him to, easing himself down on the toy. The three minutes had been nothing, his hand moving so slowly that he hadn’t even brought himself to full hardness by the end. He counted fifteen dildos to go, so bided his time. Shanks had looked on unperturbed.

The second toy—okay, Marco had been fully hard by the end. He comforted himself with the knowledge that Shanks was also clearly sporting an erection underneath his trousers.

_This is simple_ , Marco had told himself, teeth gritted as he fisted his cock again with the third dick stretching his ass. _Just breathe, take it easy, and don’t overthink it. If he gets you worked up you’re fucked._

_Don’t let that hand stop_ , Shanks had provided by way of commentary. _Or the t_ _hree_ _minutes start again_.

The bet was that Marco couldn’t get all the way to the end of the bench, spending three minutes on each toy, without coming. Marco figured it was only a matter of will.

But now… Now that Shanks had gotten a fucking text and fucked off to god knows fucking where, leaving Marco alone and feeling quite stupid again, Marco wasn’t so sure. Shanks never failed to make him so _angry_. And it was an anger that caught its kindling off of humiliation, a ruddy burn that surfaced from all over Marco’s skin—the thought that Shanks could just toss him aside, make him wait right in the middle of this stupid little show he was somehow putting on for Shanks’ sake—

Marco’s cock twitched hard in his own grip, and he didn’t bother holding back the angry, frustrated moan as he ground himself down harder on that sixth cock. This time didn’t count, Shanks had said, so Marco probably shouldn’t move at all. But the stretch and drag of the toy around his rim, its steady pressure against his inside, the angle he could pleasure his prostate at being _right there…_

“Oh my.” The door once again closed behind Shanks, and Marco grunted as his hips stuttered to a stop. Marco was refusing to look, but Shanks padded all the way around to Marco’s front to make sure he _could_ look. Look at Shanks’ pleased, caustic smirk, his hand wrapped around a goddamn _Starbucks iced coffee_ —

“Are you so hot for it you couldn’t even wait for me to get back?”

“Who the fuck,” Marco snarled, out of breath, “orders Starbucks delivered—”

Shanks slurped loudly out of the straw. It was mostly ice anyways, Marco thought bitterly. Stupid fucker paid $5 for a drink that was mostly ice.

“How are you gonna make it to fifteen at this rate?” Shanks chastised, having the nerve to shake his head and click his tongue. “You’re so close to coming already, aren’t you?”

He didn’t say it, but Marco could see it clearly in the raise of his brow, the cock of his head.

_Slut._

It was unfair, _unfair_ that that look only made Marco even more desperate. His hip stuttered into motion again on instinct. Shanks laughed mockingly.

“Okay,” he decided, giving his coffee a little rattle, “I can be generous. If you can come on that toy alone in the next minute, you don’t have to do the rest of the bench.”

Eyes flitting meaningfully to the huge analogue clock he had mounted on his wall, Shanks took another sip. Marco swore, and started fucking himself down on the toy with renewed rigor.

_One minute. You fucking bastard sadist ass douche—_

But against all odds, the twenty-plus minutes of masturbation had done its magic; Marco was thoroughly sensitized and swollen in all the right places inside, and even with his dick just freely bobbing in the air Marco could feel, after one particularly perfect press of toy to prostate, the rush of orgasm rising, tiding, _breaking—_

— _shattering_ , with the shock of cold ice tumbling into his lap—

“Ah, oops,” Shanks hummed over Marco’s startled, miserable yelp, as the orgasm fell to ruins. All that pent up pleasure expecting to crest doubled back in, coalescing in the pit of Marco’s stomach instead as a somewhat petulant anguish. Marco couldn’t help but stare up at Shanks, mouth agape in affront; a voice in his mind was yelling all the while, _that’s not fair that’s not fair that’s not fair_.

With a sympathetic tilt of his head, Shanks carelessly dropped his now-empty cup to the floor. With that icy hand he lifted Marco’s chin and gave Marco a short, dry kiss.

“I know, it's not fair, is it? You poor thing.” The hand now transferred to Marco’s collar—the thick strap of black leather was Shanks’ favored accessory, and almost always had it ready for Marco to put on the moment he ordered Marco to strip—and pulled Marco up. A whine escaped Marco’s throat, when the dildo slipped out of his ass. “Well that was my fault, so I’ll let you choose what happens next.”

There were still relatively sizable rounds of ice sitting on the bench between the dildos. Shanks scooped one up now and casually reached down, rubbing it over Marco’s balls. When Marco hissed and flinched forward, Shanks moved the ice cube further back, first along Marco’s perineum, then right against his hole.

Slipped it in past the rim.

“ _Oh_. Oh you fucker,” Marco teethed, mouthed, _drooled_ into Shanks’ shoulder, trying so desperately to stay upright and keep that piece of ice clenched inside him. “What do I— What’s the choice—”

“You can rest, I promise,” Shanks laughed, soothing that hand encouragingly along Marco’s flank. But Marco wasn’t fooled. Things never just _ended_ like this with Red Hair; if Marco really opted to tap out now (not that he wanted to, with completion placed so sweetly against his tongue but yanked away before he could fully consume it), no doubt the sadistic bastard would come up with another method of torment. “Or you can finish the rest of the bench. Same rules, but no ice this time, promise.”

Ah, so choose between the uncertainty of apparent mercy and the devil Marco knew. All of Marco’s most sensitive skin still stung with the temperature shock, and he knew the next few dildos, should he choose the bench, would be torment on both the ice in his ass and his aching cock.

“But I suppose it’s only fair to warn you—” Two small black remotes appeared in Shanks’ hand, fished out of his pocket. “—I do have other tricks up my sleeve.”

“For which option?” Marco snarled, only to be met with another teasing kiss and grin. The remotes were kept out of his reach, when Marco made a half-hearted swipe for them.

“So? Make up your mind?”

Shanks, with his stupid room and stupid throne, really must fancy himself some sort of a _king_. But it’s not like Marco, so quick to dance to whatever tune Shanks dictated, was doing anything to dissuade Shanks from that particular delusion.

Gritting his teeth, Marco reached down, and slowly began to sit down on the seventh cock.

**Author's Note:**

> my [tumblr](https://touchmycoat.tumblr.com/), where i'm thirsty a lot and absolutely delight in filthy, filthy prompts...
> 
> leave a comment or some emojis 🔥🔥🔥


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